


kindle and char and enflame and ignite

by amurderof



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bondage, Consent Play, Established Relationship, Face Slapping, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Pre-Negotiated Kink, Rimming, Sexual Roleplay, Size Kink, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5059921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amurderof/pseuds/amurderof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He bends at the waist and stares at Dorian with his one grey eye, and then he <i>winks</i>, and Dorian feels the scene break around them, the warmth and size of the hearth across the room impossible on a ship, the ropes too carefully tied on his wrists and ankles. The wide stretch of Bull’s smirk. “No self-respecting one-eyed pirate would <i>wink</i>,” he snaps, his scowl ruined by the laughter bubbling up from his chest.</p><p>Bull brushes off the comment and hooks his thumb over his belt. “No trapped vint horrified of his savage captor would go straight for the sexy jugular.”</p><p>Dorian tips his head back against the wall and closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Bull’s smug, handsome face. “Oh, I’m horrified all right.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	kindle and char and enflame and ignite

**Author's Note:**

> i don't even remember who in the squad was talking about this and inspired me, but here we are.
> 
> title's the sexiest line of disney's "(yo ho) a pirate's life for me", because i don't respect my own childhood.

“What d’you think a pretty face like yours is worth, huh?”

Dorian struggles not to press into the steady weight of the calloused fingers under his chin, the first touch he’s felt that wasn’t shackles and rope since he was left in the room after his capture. “Your life, I imagine,” he replies, and he swallows down his disappointment when the fingers leave his skin.

“Got a mouth on you too?” and Dorian’s opening said mouth to compliment the brute’s observational skills when his words are cut short, a thumb firm on his bottom lip, sliding over his teeth to push against his tongue. “Know what we do with mouthy bastards around here?”

Dorian swallows around the beast’s thumb, trying to ignore the spittle trailing down either side of his chin. The qunari stands mostly in shadow, but Dorian can see the broad outline of his shoulders and horns. There are few ways this could end well for him — even if he used his magic, he’s uncertain he could fell the brute before he incurred grievous bodily injury.

The thumb slides deeper into his mouth, nearly to his throat — though not enough to choke — before being pulled from his mouth in a long wipe across his lower lip. Dorian shudders, not entirely in control of the reaction. “What do you think we do, little mage?”

He’s had, then. The smuggler knows of his magic and is likely prepared to combat it, to protect himself in the face of Dorian’s attempt to light him up. “Something egregious, I would imagine.” He swallows again, and follows the path of the smuggler’s hand as it rests at the belt at his own waist, thick leather and polished steel. The man’s thumb is shiny with spit as he rubs it into the swarthy flesh of his paunch. Dorian’s struck by the startlingly clear mental image of his mouth pressed to that same skin, tasting the salt of the brute’s sweat.

“Nothing clandestine,” he replies before he’s thought it through, his voice too breathless, and the qunari laughs loud and full, the sound echoing in the confines of his cell.

He bends at the waist and stares at Dorian with his one grey eye, and then he _winks_ , and Dorian feels the scene break around them, the warmth and size of the hearth across the room impossible on a ship, the ropes too carefully tied on his wrists and ankles. The wide stretch of Bull’s smirk. “No self-respecting one-eyed pirate would _wink_ ,” he snaps, his scowl ruined by the laughter bubbling up from his chest.

Bull brushes off the comment and hooks his thumb over his belt. “No trapped vint horrified of his savage captor would go straight for the sexy jugular.”

Dorian tips his head back against the wall and closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Bull’s smug, handsome face. “Oh, I’m horrified all right.”

“Mmhmm,” Bull hums, and even with his eyes closed Dorian can see the shadow fall over him when Bull moves in close.

Bull’s thumb presses at his lips, and Dorian lets him part them, lets Bull slip his thumb into his mouth. “Think I’ll fuck your mouth raw,” Bull — shit, Dorian corrects, _the smuggler_ says, and Dorian drags his teeth warningly over the brute’s knuckle. “Get a little taste before we decide if we’re going to sell you back to the people you’re running from, or keep you around for company.”

Dorian opens his eyes and does bite down then, hard enough that the smuggler swears under his breath and jerks his thumb out of Dorian’s mouth, his hand away from Dorian’s face.

“You can _try_ ,” Dorian snarls, and the smuggler holds his gaze for a long moment, considering, before slapping him.

Dorian curses at the bright sting of pain and the lingering ache, unable to rub it away with his own hand. It blossoms across his cheek and seems to move down his throat, spread across his chest as though the brute’s laid hands on his entire body.

He manages to withhold a shudder.

“Think I know what you want,” the smuggler tells him, and he moves in close again, until Dorian can see nothing beyond his face and the broad line of his shoulders. “Think you’re wanting to be convinced.”

Dorian snorts and tries to look anywhere but the brute’s all-seeing eye. He feels as though he’s been placed under a magnifying glass. “How would you go about that?”

“Could treat you right,” the smuggler says, drawing his brutish fingers through Dorian’s hair and forcing their gazes to meet. “You ever been treated right before, little mage?” He hooks the three remaining fingers on his other hand in the collar of Dorian’s robes and tugs, as though testing the fabric’s strength.

Dorian strains backwards away from the heat of the smuggler’s knuckles against his skin — but there’s little point to the maneuver, as almost immediately after the qunari releases his collar and trails his fingers down over Dorian’s chest.

“I have doubts about any claims made by someone of your caliber,” Dorian sneers, and he breathes in sharply when the smuggler drags the back of his hand over the front of Dorian’s trousers.

The smuggler’s one eye narrows at the same time that the man’s face twists into a leering grin. “Somebody’d better tell your cock.”

“ _Fuck_.” Dorian’s head tips back when Bull curves his hand over his erection, and it’s hard to remember the game when that firm grip’s so near, just within reach. “Fuck you,” he manages to snarl, and Bull arches an eyebrow at him before schooling his expression.

“That what you want?” The smuggler squeezes Dorian’s cock once more before moving his hand up to the waistband of Dorian’s trousers. “Would you like that, if I stripped you down and used you?” Dorian feels the tie of his trousers loosen, and the sudden chill of the room on the skin below his navel. The smuggler’s hand smoothing down his stomach is a respite of warm calloused skin, only marred by the qunari’s rough laugh.

Dorian’s curious despite himself, despite how his body shudders at the slow-moving touch. “What? What could possibly be funny, you savage—”

“I’m considering leaving you like this,” the smuggler replies, voice easy-going like he’s stopped Dorian to ask for directions to the library. “Hard and straining in your smalls, and all you’ll have to occupy your time is hoping I come back and get you off.”

“You’re delusional.” But Dorian shakes in his bindings when the smuggler lifts an eyebrow and drags his knuckles across the front of Dorian’s smalls, and then slides his hand back to cup Dorian’s balls. “I’d — long for no such thing.”

“Longing, huh? Your word,” the smuggler replies, and sinks gracelessly to his knees. Dorian can’t stop the heat that flares in his gut, the way every muscle in his body tenses — from fear, if he were smart. From a sudden and quaking arousal, were he literally anything else, which he appears to be in this moment.

He strains against the ropes and chains when the great qunari shifts forward and opens his mouth against him, wets the front of his smalls with spit and licks up the length of his cock, the sensation barely dulled for the silk between them. “You ever wear something dantier? You’d look so good in pink, kadan.”

Dorian chokes on his laugh, dropping his head back against the wall. “You’re confusing your fantasies, amatus.”

Bull hums, and sucks at Dorian’s cock through the fabric. “Help me remember that one for later then.”

Dorian’s hips rock forward, and Bull glances up at him with a quick grin, which slips off his face when Dorian replies, “I think it’d agree with you more. Lace and tiny bows, and an opening in the front that lets me put my mouth on you.”

“You’re a little shit,” Bull says sternly, and Dorian’s laugh ends on a low moan when Bull leans in and bites at his thigh. “Hadn’t planned on giving you back bruised and broken, but that possibility’s looking better and better the more you open your mouth.”

“ _Beast_ ,” Dorian hisses, and jerks against the bindings and the smuggler’s hot, savage mouth. "You overestimate my value. You'll gain little by returning me to my family... so damaged."

The smuggler arches a brow, and scrapes his cuspids, his _fangs_ over Dorian's skin. The sensation spirals through him and he's back to shaking again, captured and tied by this qunari savage.

"They don't treat you good enough where you're from, pretty?" The smuggler slides his hands around Dorian's thighs and then up, until those massive palms are cupping Dorian's arse. It's — it's an intoxicating feeling, regardless of the circumstances, to be held so firmly by so large a man.

"I don't know what business that is of yo—!"

Dorian shouts when the smuggler leans forward and mouths at the head of his cock through his smalls again, the returned heat overwhelming in the relative chill of the room. The bindings holding him rattle as he shudders, and he can't help the way he presses forward into the smuggler's space, against the smuggler's soft and smiling lips.

"Ain't my business," the smuggler says, and kisses the wet patch he's left on Dorian's smalls. "But I don't think a Tevinter brat like you is gonna end up on a shitty dock in Rivain because he's looking to head home."

"And your alternative is — what, exactly?" Dorian snaps, and then immediately shudders when he hears his smalls tear, the brute likely hooking one of his massive claws in the fabric and tugging. The smuggler shoves them down Dorian's legs and they pool at his bound ankles.

Dorian forces himself still when the smuggler's hands return to his arse, fingers moving in slow circles over his skin, like they're getting a feel for him. Maker's breath.

"I like having pretty things around. I like taking pretty things to bed even more."

"Is this _to bed_ then?" Dorian scowls, and lets out a yelp when the smuggler smacks one of his arsecheeks with one of his broad hands.

"This is where I keep you until I can be sure you won't kill me dead," the smuggler replies easily, and leans forward to lick a long stripe up the underside of Dorian's cock.

"Sweet fuck," Dorian gasps, and sags into Bull's grip on him. "Fuck, Bull, _please_."

"You're really bad at this," Bull chastises, but he deems it appropriate to take pity on Dorian and slides Dorian's cock between his lips, swallows him down in one smooth movement that has Dorian weak in the knees and relying solely on Bull's strength to stay upright.

" _You're_ really—" Dorian starts, but gives up the spite of the response halfway there, "—good at this, fuck."

Bull laughs around his cock and Dorian, with the scene, the weight of Bull's grip on him, the press of Bull's tongue, feels his climax on the edges of his perception, just within reach.

When the smuggler pulls back, smirk pulling at the edges of his shining lips, Dorian snarls and bucks against the qunari's hold. "Savage, savage _fucking_ —"

The smuggler's hands spread Dorian's arse, and one of his thick fingers slides between. "Ask nicely."

"Your _mouth_." Dorian whines when nothing happens beyond the press of one of the qunari's big fingers against his hole — sensation, sensation and nothing substantial, Dorian feels fit to shake apart from it, if only something would _let him_.

"Ask nicely," the smuggler repeats, and leans in to blow cool air along the length of Dorian's aching dick.

"Please," Dorian snaps, and his cock is swallowed back down into blissful heat and pressure.

==

Bull — no, the smuggler still, Dorian can feel the difference in the way the man's hands roam over his body instead of holding firm — picks Dorian up when he's bone-loose and shaking from his climax, undoing the restraints with a few simple gestures.

Dorian's not so much placed on the bed as he is laid out, and when the smuggler settles between his legs and mouths at his oversensitive cock, Dorian whines, making the attempt to bat at him with one weak arm. "You'll fuck me then."

"I had considered it," the smuggler says, mouth wandering down Dorian's inner thighs, to his knees. “Your ass is fucking incredible.” Bull huffs a laugh against the side of Dorian’s calf and adds, “And incredible for fucking.”

Dorian lets out a long groan and manages to lift his other leg enough to smack his foot into Bull’s massive side. “Maker save me from your seductions.”

Bull easily catches his foot at the ankle and turns his head, pressing a firm kiss against the arch of his sole, and Dorian has to drop his head back and breathe out slowly while his still-sensitive cock jerks against his stomach.

“But I’ve contemplated a couple things,” the smuggler continues, dropping Dorian’s foot back to the bed and crawling up between Dorian’s legs to loom over him, hands on either side of his hips. “Mostly how the instant I’m off my guard you’re gonna set me aflame.”

“I had considered it,” Dorian agrees, and in one smooth motion the smuggler has Dorian’s wrists in one of his gargantuan hands, and is bending his arms above his head on the bed. It strains his shoulders — Dorian can feel the tension throughout his entire back — and he swears to himself that he won’t allow the brute to know how much he likes the feeling.

The smuggler seems to know regardless, if his smirk is anything to go by, and he pushes down once on the hold he has on Dorian seemingly just to watch the way Dorian’s eyes go tight when he hisses at the sensation. The smuggler leans in, and scrapes his teeth over the edge of Dorian’s jaw in some bizarre qunari parody of a kiss. “I’d recommend keeping the fire to a minimum, being on a ship made of wood and all.”

“Ice then,” Dorian snaps, or tries to — his voice less firm than he’d like given the circumstances. But then the smuggler’s following the route his teeth took with his tongue, and for some reason it makes him feel the right kind of filthy. He’s heard stories, of rogue qunari in the jungles, sucking their captives dry once they were through sating their other thirsts. It sets Dorian’s blood aflame with a heady mix of fear and expectation, that mixes with the arousal thrumming low throughout him already. “Summoning the very spirits of the Fade to do my bidding.”

The smuggler’s hold on his wrists tightens at that, claws digging into the meat of Dorian’s arms. “Don’t tell me I suck cock bad enough you’d opt for possession as an alternative.”

Dorian laughs, and shudders when the smuggler bites down on the side of his neck, hard enough to set him shivering. “A warning,” he says breathlessly, and when the smuggler glances up at him, “a reminder, that were I to desire it, I’d have you dead now.”

The smuggler swears under his breath, but he doesn't sound upset, he sounds —

"Fuck, you're something," the smuggler says on a moan, and he lets up on Dorian's wrists enough to toss him over onto his stomach and lean back down, and lick across the top of his arse.

==

"Is this — is this what you learn on the high seas?" Dorian manages to pant against the sheets, and there's a rumbling laugh from behind him.

The smuggler shifts on the bed, and it takes a significant amount of Dorian's concentration to understand what he says, because he chooses to precede it by spitting on Dorian's hole, saliva mixing with the slick he's already used, and sliding one of his monstrous fingers in, slow, steady. "Eating out pretty vints?"

"Ye-es," Dorian replies, and he gasps when the smuggler licks around his own Maker-damned finger, warm and frankly. Frankly, wonderfully filthy. "Not something to be considered in the upper echelons of society."

"You're using real big words for a little mage I've got laid out on my bed," the smuggler says, and he presses his thumb against Dorian's perineum. He rubs the callouses of his thumb firmly over stretched skin, and licks into Dorian in one determined push, and Dorian grabs at the sheets on either side of his head, twisting them in his fists.

"Training. You learn to — ah, fuck, to focus on multiple things at once. It's. It's a requirement, if you. If you're not interested in waking up dead or, worse. Worse, w — boring."

"That so." The smuggler hums, and Dorian can feel the vibrations at the very base of his spine. "Sounds like a challenge." The smuggler scrapes his teeth over one of Dorian's arsecheeks, and then draws his hand over the skin. Dorian shudders, and breathes in sharply when Bull places a careful, soft kiss in the same place.

"'Nother idea. You read aloud from one of your old books and I get you off. You keep reading throughout, you win."

Dorian barks out a laugh, and turns his head enough to eye Bull over his shoulder. "And you win if you manage to distract me?"

Bull grins, wide and sharp. " _When_ I distract you."

"Kaffas," Dorian laughs — and his whole body jerks and he lets out a sudden whimper when Bull rubs his finger against Dorian's hole, and leans in to suck one of Dorian's balls into his mouth. "That's — I don't have a book, this, this doesn't count."

Bull hums again, and Dorian drops his head to the mattress and bites down on his bottom lip. He needs... Shit.

"If we were playing now," Bull says when he pulls back, and his breath is shudderingly cool against Dorian's slick skin, "the stakes would be higher. I'd let you go. Or I'd have my way with you."

Dorian works one of his hands under his stomach, and presses his palm against his erection, only the most basic of relief. "I'll admit to not seeing the difference."

The smuggler _growls_ , and Dorian holds his breath but keeps his hand where it is, encircling his cock.

"Put your hand back above your head, mage," the smuggler commands, and takes each of Dorian's thighs in his gargantuan grip. He spreads them further apart on the bed, dropping Dorian's hips lower, and Dorian hisses at the sudden delicious ache below the smuggler's hands, at the small of his back.

“Fuck you,” Dorian replies, more for the principle of it than anything else, and he sucks in a breath when the smuggler draws his hands up to Dorian’s arse and smacks his left cheek once, hard. Dorian tightens his hold and lets the jump of his hips when the smuggler lays out another slap against his arse drive his cock between his fisted fingers. “Fuck, _Bull_.”

“Put your hand back above your head,” the smuggler repeats, and rubs his hand over Dorian’s arse in firm circles, smoothing the sting into an ache, before spanking him again, a series of quick, steady hits that leave Dorian shaking, and so close. So —

And of course the smuggler stops, his hand leaving Dorian’s arse, the warmth of his bulk shifting on the bed behind him. Dorian draws his hand more quickly over his cock, chasing — fuck, his second orgasm is justifiably more difficult in, _ha_ , coming, and normally he has Bull’s clever mouth or fingers providing support, so it’s. It’s —

The smuggler grabs him by the hips and flips him onto his back in one fluid motion. Dorian strikes out with both arms to steady himself, one hand twisting in the sheets and the other scrabbling against the smuggler’s shoulder, neck. He curves his fingers around to the back of the smuggler’s skull and — it hits him, the idea, and he grins as he tries to catch his breath, and at Bull’s answering lifted eyebrow, he reaches for the Fade and finds electricity, and sends it dancing down Bull’s back.

“Sweet _fuck_ ,” Bull hisses, dropping his head forward as the skin underneath Dorian’s fingertips jumps.

“A warning.” Dorian raises his other hand from the sheets and wraps it around one of the smuggler’s horns. He lets the magic bleed out, and lays his palm flat over the back of the smuggler’s neck. “That you are not in control here, qunari.”

“A challenge,” the smuggler replies, voice wavering, and Bull leans down to kiss him, and take Dorian’s cock in hand.

==

There’s always a point at which Dorian loses the thread of their game, at which Bull is no longer the smuggler, or the spy, or — Andraste’s arse, a _personal_ favorite — the warrior returned from deployment and eager to be reunited with his favorite tamassran.

There is a point at which Bull is only Bull, and Dorian loses himself.

==

“That electricity thing,” Bull tells him later, Dorian’s face pressed against Bull’s neck, Bull’s chin butting against the top of Dorian’s head when he talks. “You’re gonna do that again.”

Dorian says, still breathless, voice muffled, “Am I?”

“Uh, maybe a _lot_ ,” Bull clarifies, and Dorian closes his eyes and laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! if you liked it, i'd love to hear from you — either via a comment below, or on [tumblr](http://amurderof.tumblr.com/ask).


End file.
